


To Befriend A Thief

by A_Random_NPC



Series: Voidsinger [2]
Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Mage Quarter, Stormwind, Void Elf, Voidsinger, World of Warcraft: Battle for Azeroth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-25
Updated: 2020-09-25
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:22:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26640601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Random_NPC/pseuds/A_Random_NPC
Summary: Sinnlyra Voidsinger and Tyrvalin Duskmourn spend a friendly evening together in Lyra's home and discuss her issues with the Void.
Series: Voidsinger [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1796173
Comments: 3
Kudos: 4





	To Befriend A Thief

**Author's Note:**

> Tyrvalin Duskmourn belongs to Vaethryn on Twitter. You can find art of Tyr and more about him here: https://twitter.com/vaethryn
> 
> This story has played out via a combination of in game role playing and writing as a collaboration with Vae.
> 
> 2/17/2021 edit: changed wording to reflect new character backstory.

The Mage Quarter of Stormwind was silent as Lyra stepped out of her shop. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, the scent of apple blossoms drifting in the air to mingle with the lavender that bloomed at her feet. She bent a moment to pluck a few sprigs of it to tuck into the folds of her cloak, pleased with the sight of the pale blooms against the vibrant green earth. She loved the Mage Quarter, and the modest but cozy home she had made for herself there since leaving the Rift. A soft jingle of metal from the chatelaine hanging from her belt reminded her to lock the door behind her even as whispers began to form in her mind at her small moment of inattention. She shifted her small covered basket from one arm to the other to lock the door, but paused as a small whisper began to grow louder in her mind.

We see what you do not… You will never be the same… We can give you back what you have lost, singer.

Lyra gritted her teeth and savagely twisted the key in the lock, it’s shaft nearly snapping in her hand from the force. Her vision clouded, a sure sign that another fit was coming on. The sweetness of the flowers around her took on the warm, musty scent of decay and death as shadows began creeping toward her from the edges of the building.

“Back. Off.” She muttered harshly, feeling the scar on her face creep towards her mouth. She concentrated, pushing the whispers aside. The air around her suddenly warmed as she reinforced her control over her own mind. The tell-tale ache in her face receded as the scar crept back under her hair where it belonged. She reached up to rub her cheek, massaging the slight pain away as she turned to face the place she had made her home over the past weeks, the keys jingling as she dropped them once more to her side.

It was a modest two story building with a workshop attached, already furnished. She had been fortunate to find someone willing to do a lease to buy option for the building. Six more payments, and it would be hers, she thought as she heard the clocks throughout the city begin tolling five bells to indicate the hour. It reminded her why she had closed early in the first place and sighed, pushing away from the doorway. The dress she was working on for some noble or another needed fasteners, and none of the ones she had on hand seemed to fit the design. After several moments of trying out each, she realized she needed to go shopping to find something that worked with the elegant gown of silver silk. She had been inspired by the way the moonlight fell on the harbor one evening while out walking, and had decided to recreate it as best as possible for the lady to wear to a charity gala.

The grass whispered under the hem of her skirts as she made her way toward the other tailor shops in the district. By now she was on first name basis with many of the others in her profession, though a handful still viewed her with cool disdain. She kept her face neutral as several young mages tittered over love spells as they passed her on their way to the portal tower. They gave her a wide berth after catching sight of her strange, angular face. She ignored them, though their laughter made her heart ache. A faint whisper of a memory teased the edge of her thoughts, the sound of children’s laughter in the bright sun, a sensation of a small hand in her own, a different kind of flower scenting the air. It was ephemeral as she stopped suddenly in the center of the path, trying desperately to bring the memory closer to her heart. She bit her lip, trying not to cry as it slipped away once again before settling her face once again in its mask of polite inattention as she continued to make her way to another shop.

She tapped politely on the door frame, catching the attention of the tailors working inside. They greeted her pleasantly, waving her in. A woman stepped forward, a smile on her matronly face.

“Lyra, welcome! We don’t normally see you until after sunset. What brings you in so early, darling?”

“Hello Alexandra. I’ve run into a bit of a difficulty with fasteners.” Lyra placed her basket on the counter, pulling out a sketch of the dress she was working on to show the other woman. The other tailors in the room continued their work, hemming and cutting lengths of cloth from the massive bolts that lined the room. The snip of scissors and soft whisper of cloth against cloth soothed Lyra’s troubled heart. “Have you anything in silver you would be willing to part with?”

“Silver you say? You’re in luck, girl, we just had a new shipment of baubles in that we haven’t sorted yet. You’re welcome to sift through them to see if anything strikes your fancy.” Alexandra gestured for her to follow, leading her up the stairs to their storage area. A small crate sat on a table, it’s lid leaning against the table legs awkwardly. The interior was lined with packets and loose bits of jewelry of all shapes, sizes, and colors, a venable pirate’s trove of gold and silver. Lyra smiled, thinking of one pirate in particular who would love to get his hands on this sort of loot. Just as she thought of the man in question, she felt a small tingle in her fingertips, a slight tug toward the crate.

“Feel free to flip through all of this mess and grab whatever you like, dear. There should be something in here that should work. Silver silk… You’ll want something filigree, seeing how delicate this design is…” Alexandra’s voice drifted as Lyra reached out and began neatly pulling packets from the crate, her hands delicately untying and redoing knots as each one revealed its contents to her.

“Thank you, Alexandra. I will pay for whatever I find, naturally.” She replied, smiling at the old woman, who nodded cheerfully and made her way back downstairs. The tingle in her magic became an insistent itch as she continued to dig in the crate, her fingers searching for the item that was causing it. She finally felt her hand connect with a thin line of metal and pinched it between her fingers, drawing it out from under a pile of pearls the size of her thumb.

“Tyr,” she whispered, the name echoing in her head as she slowly withdrew the charm from the crate. The charm throbbed in response before stilling in her hand, allowing her to finally inspect it properly. It was a thin silver wired charm twisted to form an evil eye to ward against harm. She grinned, finding it oddly appropriate, an idea already forming in her mind for it. She laid it in her basket and began searching once again for fasteners for the gown she was working on.

A short time later, she made her way back toward her own shop, her coin purse slightly lighter than before. Alexandra had given her a fair price for the ten filigree and moonstone links she had found for the gown, but had frowned and offered the charm for free when Lyra had gone to pay for it.

“We don’t deal in that sort of item, normally,” she had said, tucking it back in Lyra’s basket. “Mages and enchanters typically make their own charms anyhow.” Lyra had nodded, thanking her quietly for her generosity. She reached her own door, fumbling slightly when she saw a small black string tied to the doorknob. She smiled, opening the unlocked door of her home.

“You know, Tyr, it is typically polite to give someone warning before dropping by.” She said quietly as she shut and locked the door behind her, leaning against it as she viewed the man sprawled on the couch before her. He turned his head from where he lay, his black hair pooling on the cream fabric around him like ink on a clean paper. He smirked, balancing a dagger on the tip of his finger.

“And ruin the surprise? Never.” She was pleased to see he had at least removed his boots before putting his feet on the couch. His cheeky grin made her smile in response as she unfastened her cloak and hung it on a hook next to the door. “Not like I know when I’ll be here anyhow, Lyra.”

“Ah yes, and how many unfortunate guards did you rob on your way in this time?” She set her basket aside, leaning down to give him a quick kiss on the forehead when he swung his feet to the floor and sat up. He reached up and tucked her hair behind her ear, revealing her scar. She had once flinched away when he did this in the past, but now merely smiled at his insistence not to hide it from him. Their friendship had long since moved past keeping secrets from one another.

“That’s for me to know and you to speculate, love,” he said mischievously, “If they didn’t want to be robbed, they wouldn’t make it so easy now would they? Let us just say it was less than ten, but more than five.” 

“So long as they don’t end up on my doorstep demanding answers, you’re welcome to do as you please, shadow lurker.” There was genuine affection in her voice as she went around lighting the oil lamps and twitching the curtains shut on her windows. “Have you eaten yet? I’ve some decent food left. Is Sev joining us?”

“He’s off, but I’ll eat if you do,” he replied, his eye narrowing. “When’s the last time you had something to eat, Lyra?” 

“If you must know, Mother dearest, it was this morning.” She replied tersely, opening the cold box and pulling out the food she had purchased the day before. Tyr joined her in the kitchen, taking the food as she silently handed it to him and placing it on the counter. “You fuss too much.”

“And you don’t take care of yourself well enough, so if you did, there’d be no need for me to fuss.” She mimed throwing a sausage at his head, though he didn’t flinch. He continued frowning at her until she rolled her eyes and shoved it into his hands. He raised his eyebrow wickedly at her, a slow smile growing on his face. “Sausage, Lyra? Are you trying to imply something?”

“Only that you should sit on it, Tyrvalin.” She replied sweetly, closing the door of the cold box and blowing him a kiss. He chuckled and set it on the counter, pulling out a flask. He popped the cork with his thumb and offered it to her, which she declined with a short shake of her head. He sipped it as he watched her begin to cook a simple meal. They stood in companionable silence as he handed her what she needed while she worked. Soon they were both seated at the table, two steaming plates before them.

“Saw that dress you’re working on. Looks nice.” Tyr said casually between bites. Lyra hummed happily, toying with a piece of tomato on her plate. “Some fancy person buying it?”

“Yes. For a charity gala for the night elves and Gilneans that lost their homes. The commission should cover at least two payments on this place.” She sighed happily, looking around her home. Tyr covered her hand with his own, squeezing it slightly. 

“Proud of you, Lyra. You’re a true self made woman.” She chuckled as he speared the tomato she had been toying with on the tip of his knife and maneuvered it towards her mouth. She pushed his arm gently away, but ate it nonetheless. She found it endearing that he tried to feed her at every opportunity, knowing there were times she lost track of herself and missed meals. Though it had been months since she had woken up from a coma, she was still rail thin and underweight. Though they never discussed it openly, Tyr made it a point to stop by to check on her and ensure she was caring for herself properly, even if it meant risking capture at the hands of the Stormwind guard each time.

“Thank you, Tyr. How long will you be staying?” He grabbed both plates, now empty, and made his way to the kitchen to wash up. She knew not to argue after one heated argument that involved several smashed plates that had been replaced by a brand new set the next day not to fight him on who did dishes. He tossed her a dish towel so she could dry and shrugged.

“Probably just the night. Sev’ll be back tomorrow, but then I’ll need to head back to Stormsong. Got some stuff to deal with there.” She raised an eyebrow at him, accepting a washed plate from him and dried it before stowing it away in the cabinets. 

“Nothing too dangerous, I hope?” She never asked him about his business directly, but worried nonetheless. He chuckled and rinsed another plate.

“Nothing for you to worry your pretty head over, don’t you fret. Pirate business.” His mouth went slightly hard around the edges, belying the jest.

“Oh aye, pirate business,” she replied sarcastically, flicking him with the towel. “Woe betide the honest merchants that fall to your blade, you merciless scallywag.” He chuckled and pulled the plug on the sink, stealing the towel from her and hanging it neatly.

“It’s personal, this time. Heard some things about someone, need to go check it out, see if he’s in a spot of trouble again.” She immediately stopped teasing him when she saw the worry on his face. She reached up and cupped his face in her hands, trying to smooth the frown lines away from his eyes.

“Your friend?” She whispered. He closed his eye, nodding. Lyra still found it strange that he had a friend in Kul Tiras, but chose not to ask. He wrapped his hands around her wrists and gently pulled her hands from his face, bending down to touch his forehead to hers.

“It might involve the Void, Lyra. Can I count on you?” His voice was rough with worry. She closed her eyes, nodding, enjoying the simple connection.

“Bring him to me, if you need. I will do what I can.” She felt the familiar ache as the scar on her face began to grow. She flinched away, pulling her hands from his hold and covering it. She pushed the sensation away once again, the whispers trying to overwhelm her once more. Tyr watched, concerned, but smiled when she regained her composure.

“Huh. Only turned a little purple around the edges this time, grey lady. You’re getting better at keeping it under control.” She gave him a weak grin and sank onto the couch, curling her feet up under her. He plopped down next to her, wrapping a friendly arm around her. She leaned into him and sighed.

“I had a flash of memory today, Tyr,” she said softly. She hated how much she craved physical contact with others, but enjoyed the casual way he and Sev offered their support without her asking when she was off balance. She felt his breathing hitch as he considered her words and asked quietly, 

“And? What was it this time?”

“The sound of children laughing. The scent of a flower I cannot name. The warmth of the sun. And… A small hand held in my own.” Lyra held up one of her hands, staring at it. The lamps flickered, casting shadows on her grey skin. “It felt… So very real this time.”

“Have you written it down yet?” His voice was as soft as the hand he ran down her arm. “That is more than you’ve gotten before.” 

“Not yet. I haven’t had a chance.” She admitted. He grunted and rose from the couch, retrieving the small journal she kept on the mantle and the pen next to it. He handed them to her wordlessly as he sat down again, gesturing for her to write the details of the memory. He smoothed her hair, watching her elegant script join the other small excerpts of memory she had recorded since waking from a coma.

The warmth of a fire on a cold winter day.

The taste of apple tart with fresh whipped cream.

A man’s laughter, deep and humorless.

The scratchy weight of a heavy woolen blanket.

The sensation of love, like the sun on my skin.

Moonlight over a rippling expanse of ocean.

A heavy tome in my hands ladened with arcane symbols.

“Still no word on your past, huh?” Tyr asked as she capped the pen, watching the ink dry on the page.

“There have been inquiries, but I’m afraid the authorities are rather busy with the war. One woman alone with a lack of memories is not enough for them to be concerned about. My brethren are distracted and scattered. They have more pressing concerns than me.” She shrugged, standing to place the journal back on the mantle. “It does not matter. The memories will either come back, or they won’t. Either way, I am still Sinnlyra Voidsinger.”

“Aye, our strong, proud, beautiful, talented, and slightly creepy Lyra.” She glared at him as he smirked at her, giving her a cocky salute. “Still wouldn’t be bad to know your past. For all you know, you were rich and have a fortune waiting for you to keep me in sausages for the rest of our natural lives.”

“But Tyr, you wouldn’t need to steal then!” She mocked. He laughed before taking out his flask again, shaking it slightly to check how full it was.

“Even if I was the richest man on Azeroth, I’d still steal. I’m too good at it to quit.” He took a pull from his flask and wiped his mouth on the back of his wrist. Lyra rolled her eyes and muttered at him for being a bounder and a cad, and bent to light a fire in the grate. He stood, shooing her away. “I’ll do that, lovely. Go get a bath and relax a bit. We’ll talk when you’re washed up for the night.” 

“No peeking,” she said coquettishly as she headed up the stairs. His warm laugh followed her up, though they both know he would never betray her trust in that way. As she relaxed in her bath, she thought of their meeting on her voyage to Boralus. She had been intrigued to see a sin’dorei on an Alliance ship, but had been irrevocably drawn to him as he had been to her. Soon, he had shown up on her doorstep in Stormwind, welcoming himself into her home without a second thought. He had brought along his lover, whom she had welcomed into her home as well. The trio’s friendship had soon bloomed past a casual relationship and into a steady bond built on trust and mutual respect. She often opened her door at night to find either one or the other there, though it was more likely to be Tyr there than Sev. She winced slightly with embarrassment as her mind brushed on the night they had gotten her drunk and had her confess her loneliness and darkest fears, but the nature of their relationship had changed after that. Both of them had been more understanding and gentle with her, making way for the platonic love she felt with both of them.

She ducked her head under the water and rinsed her hair one last time, then pulled the plug to drain the tub, toweling herself dry. She heard Tyr raucously singing a drinking song downstairs and smiled as she dressed, grabbing a hairbrush before joining him downstairs. His eye lit up as he saw her come down the stairs.

“Took you long enough, Lyra. What were you doing, trying to scrub the grey out of your hair?”

“No, but I’ll certainly take you up there and wash your mouth out with soap if you keep teasing me, you ingrate.” He bowed mockingly to her as he went upstairs himself. “Go wash the stink off of yourself, you smell like a dockside brothel.” She settled in front of the fire, teasing the tangles out of her long hair with the brush as it dried. Tyr’s singing drifted down the stairs as she plaited her hair, her fingers deftly weaving the long tresses into a thick braid for the evening. She hummed along with him, knowing his repertoire as well as he, though she never frequented any bars. She felt a tingle along her spine as her eyes wandered and landed on the basket she had left near the door earlier.

The charm would make an appropriate gift for him, she thought. A necklace, perhaps? She frowned. No, that didn’t seem right. Perhaps a bracelet, then. Her hands automatically completed their braiding and tied off the end of the tail as she considered. Lost in thought as she was, she didn’t notice when her vision began to slip from reality and down into the twisted, fractured depths of the Void. The hairbrush clattered from her hand as she stared off into the haunting landscape that plagued her visions. She didn’t recognize the stars overhead, though she knew the streets well. Corpses lined the gutter, bloated and rotten in the midnight sun. The whispers became screams in her mind until it felt as if she were drowning where she sat. She thought she screamed along with them, as she watched as twisting monstrosities oozed on clawed fists toward her from the shadows of the dead.

A sharp crack brought her back to reality.

“Lyra! Wake up.” Tyr knelt before her, shaking her shoulders, his face a mask of concern. “Lovely, you did it again.” Shadows crept away from her as she focused on his eye, shaking slightly. He pulled her hand away from her face, making her realize she had clawed her cheek around her scar. She shuddered at the sight of blood under her nails, but allowed him to help her to the sink to wash her hands and face. Tyr’s hands were firm, but gentle as he wiped a healing balm on the wounds and settled her once again before the fire.

“Thank you, Tyr.” Her voice was hoarse as he sat cross legged across from her, his damp hair hanging lank along his back. She winced as he inspected the wounds in the better light, making sure he had covered them all. His hands were light on her cheeks as his face relaxed from its grim concern into relief. “I’m sorry, I didn’t-”

“Don’t apologize. You can’t help it. Tell me what you saw.” His voice was firm and insistent, though she was loath to reveal what she had seen. He grabbed her chin, forcing her to look at him when she tried to look away. She stared into his eyes, realizing he had yet to don his eyepatch and cover his own wounded eye. A deliberate action, or had he merely forgotten in his haste to help her? She tapped it in his hands, making him curse as he reached up to put it on though she would not have minded him leaving it off. She minded his scars as little as he did her own. “Lyra, tell me. You say it always helps.”

“Constellations. Strange streets lined with the dead. Horrible creatures.” She picked up her brush and gestured for him to turn so she could brush his hair. Her hands shook, though she managed to keep her melodious, but raspy voice calm. He complied, knowing allowing her to keep busy was the best way she could cope. She arranged the damp hair along his back, slowly detangling it starting at the ends. Though her scarred cheek ached, her other one felt swollen. “Did you need to slap me this time?”

“Afraid so. You were pretty deep.” Tyr glanced over his shoulder. His face filled with remorse. As fierce and battle hardened as he was, she knew it wounded him deeply to harm her. “Sorry Lyra.”

“No need to apologize. You did what needed to be done.” She smoothed his hair, pulling slightly at a knot to detangle it from one of his earrings. Her hands paused as she traced an idle finger down the edge of one of his scars that marred his long ears. “I do not recognize the city I was in, though it seemed familiar. I felt as if I were drowning again.”

“That seems to be a common enough theme with your little… Episodes. And stop that, it tickles.” He leaned his head back, favoring her with a wicked look. “Though it’s pretty cool seeing you looking all scary instead of like the little mouse you are normally.” She whacked his forehead with the hairbrush, startling a laugh from him. She laughed weakly, though his jest had broken through the remains of her fears. His face sobered as he leaned against her. “Want me to sleep on the couch in your room tonight?”

“If you don’t mind,” she said automatically, continuing to brush his hair. The stands were drying neatly under her ministrations, feeling like the silk embroidery thread she used for her fanciest work. She loved the feeling of his hair in her hands, though she would never admit it out loud. It tugged at memories of times long gone, though she could not recall them. She twisted one lank into a curl with a finger, frowning. “I would feel more confident if you were there in case something happens again. If not, I’ll have Az watch over me for the night and you can sleep down here.”

“Ol’ Az. Where is that handsome devil of yours?” For some reason, Tyr had developed an odd sort of affection for the wrathguard that rivaled Lyra’s own bond with the creature. The wrathguard tolerated them both, fierce as he was. She rarely called him within the boundaries of the city, as the sight of demons caused panic among the citizens, but took him with her when she traveled. Between him and the void walker Negasik, she was well guarded on her excursions.

“Off as well. His services were not needed today, so he is… Well, wherever demons go when we warlocks do not need them.” She began braiding his hair along his temple, still enjoying the softness of his black locks in her hands. He tilted his head slightly so she could work more efficiently, his eye closed. “He said he would break your hands if he caught you trying to steal from him again, anyhow.”

“Sev says Az drinks because he has to deal with you.” Tyr laughed, opening his eye to see her reaction. The mischievous grin he gave her once again reminded her of someone, though she could not recall them. Her heart ached as her fingers automatically added strands of his hair to the braid, making it lay neatly along his temple. She had done this for someone once before, she thought, though she never wrote it down in her journal. This was one new ritual she was loath to have tainted by the past.

“Sev is an ass.” Lyra replied tartly, finishing one braid and starting on another below the first, though she smiled. It sounded very much so like something the night elf would say. Though their relationship was not as close as her and Tyr, she appreciated the man’s gruff demeanor compared to Tyr’s flirtatious nature. She envied their relationship to an extent, though her fears kept her from seeking one of her own. Another thought to ponder a different day.

“Yeah, but so is Az. It’s even in his name.”

“Tyr!” She smacked him playfully, dissolving into giggles. He laughed as well, shoving her back. The fire crackled and popped next to them as she finished braiding his hair. The bells of Stormwind began to toll as Tyr banked the fire and offered her a hand up.

“Bed time, dear. You’ve a load of work to do tomorrow, and I need to be off with the changing of the guard.” She allowed him to pull her to her feet and smiled up into his handsome face. He gave her a small smirk in return, squeezing her hand reassuringly.

“There you go mothering me again, shadow lurker. Whenever will you stop doing that?” He gave her a quick kiss on the forehead before gently leading her to the stairs.

“Never, ever, grey lady. Not so long as there are shadows to lurk in, alcohol to drink, and people to steal from.”

Later that night, Lyra woke briefly as Tyr opened one of the windows to sneak out before the sun rose and smiled, snuggling back down into her blankets. Though she didn’t know when or how, she knew he would be back. An odd sort of friendship, but a good one, she thought as she drifted back into a dreamless sleep. Somehow she doubted she had anything like this in her previous life.


End file.
